Lt Disher and the Rekindled Romance
by Malvolia
Summary: Sharona Fleming was the one that got away. But she wouldn't always be. [Complete.]
1. Sudden Fall

Falling for Sharona Fleming was as sudden as most things in Randy Disher's life. When he was a kid, for example, he wanted to drive a dump truck when he grew up. He didn't exactly know what that would mean, but he was sure that was what he wanted to do. Absolutely. One hundred percent.

Then one day on the way home from school he and his mother passed an arrest in progress, and he saw the swirling red lights and watched a man in blue putting handcuffs on another man and heard his mother explain that the police officer was doing his job—helping to keep people safe. And Randy knew. That's what he wanted to do with his life.

Okay, falling for Sharona wasn't that dramatic, but it did seem that sudden. One day she was insulting him and he was rolling his eyes and wishing she would just go away and never come back, and the next day he was purposely courting her attention—greeting her when she and Monk came to a crime scene, delivering all of the kicker bits of information to her, smiling eagerly whenever she dropped her exasperated expression for even a second. True, she was still insulting him, but...

When he went home that night, he found himself grinning, and when he thought about the reason, he realized that in his head he was replaying the one time she smiled back at him. Well…sort of. She was looking in his general direction, anyway. And Randy knew. He was going to marry her someday.

He had always been quick to jump to conclusions.

After that first day, he found himself looking for excuses to say her name. It used to be so grating, so obnoxious. Like her voice, really. Or like her voice _used _to be. Her voice was now what her name was: melodious. Melodious. That was really the only word for it. "Sharona," he would say, drawing it out a bit because the name felt good in his mouth. "Lieutenant," she would reply, those first weeks after everything changed, and he would swell up inside from a simultaneous sense of pride and of a strong desire to prove himself worthy, of the title and of her.

He also found himself dragging out the pauses in his delivery of crucial information. These moments had originally stemmed from his aversion to having Monk cut him off mid-sentence with the information it had taken Randy hours to dig up. If Monk knew the answer, Randy was going to pause to let him say it. He had grown to relish the times when the silences went unfilled. They were so…_validating_. After the sudden turnaround in his feelings for Sharona, he indulged in these dramatic silences even more frequently, just for the opportunity they provided to make and sustain eye contact with her.

But whenever he met her eyes during those silences, looking for a hint of affection somewhere deep within them, all he saw was incredulity that he could possibly be as dense as she thought he was. Or as he actually was. He wasn't sure which.

So he tried to get over her by dating other women. He even had a serious girlfriend for a while—Crystal. Then one night Crystal had found out that the only picture he had of her was one of her modeling shots. She had dragged him to one of those photo booths and paid to get a series of pictures of the two of them together. She told him that the pictures would prove to everybody that she really existed, that they could stop doubting him.

He should have been pleased, but the first thing that flashed into his mind was Sharona's reaction to the tie his last girlfriend bought for him, over a year ago now.

"It's a gift from my girlfriend," he had said.

"She has very good taste," Sharona had replied. Then she grinned and added, "In ties, not in men."

"Do I detect a hint of jealousy?" he asked.

"If you do, it's the only detecting you've ever done," she said.

Randy looked at the pictures he held in his hand. Pictures of him and this beautiful woman who wanted to be his girlfriend. Smiling—laughing—gazing into each other's eyes—kissing... He couldn't help but wonder. "The only detecting you've ever done." What did she mean by that?

That was the night he broke up with Crystal. Not that anybody believed him about that, either.

"Must be hard," Sharona said. "It's hard to come by an imaginary significant other. A good one, I mean."

He rolled his eyes and pretended not to notice the way she was smiling when she said it. But he saw. He was quick that way. He saw how she looked at him that day, and the next, and the day after that. And the times she didn't look. He saw those, too, and he knew what they meant. Or at least he sure hoped he did.


	2. Impromptu Invitation

She was standing by his desk one night, waiting for Stottlemeyer and Monk to finish a one-on-one conversation about the captain's personal life (not that anybody was supposed to know that, but Randy wasn't as stupid as everybody thought he was).

She looked at her watch impatiently.

"Gotta be somewhere?" he asked.

She didn't hear him. He knew what that meant. More guy trouble. The woman was a magnet for all the losers in town. He realized the connotations of that thought, considering….

Randy coughed.

"What?" Sharona snapped.

"What, me?" said Randy. "Oh. Nothing."

She quirked an eyebrow suspiciously.

"My, uh…my throat is just feeling a little dry," he stammered. He raised a fist to his mouth and coughed exaggeratedly a few times.

"He must have lost my phone number," she said. "That's all. He'll call me when he finds it."

Randy didn't stop his brief laugh soon enough.

"_What?_" she asked.

"That's…it's just…I mean, how is that even possible?" he said.

"How is it possible? He'll pick up the phone and dial, what do you mean how is it possible?"

"No!" he said, quickly. "I meant losing your number!"

She tilted her head to one side, confused, waiting for him to continue.

Randy swallowed hard. "I just mean, if somebody—you, for instance—gave, say, _me_ your number, I would memorize it just in the amount of time it took for me to stop staring at it in amazement that you…." He decided to stop. It was always better if he just stopped.

"Randy, you already have my number," Sharona pointed out. "You call me all the time."

"Well, yeah," he acknowledged, "but not _socially_."

"Face it," she said, "neither of us has a social life. And maybe it's better that way."

He watched her try to mask the memories of countless disappointments and years of heartache with one of her trademark grins. He was angry at everyone who had ever hurt her. He wanted to protect her from all of the losers in life, even if it turned out that maybe he was one of them. He wanted….

"What?" she asked again, incredulously.

A swift review of the past couple seconds informed him that he had just asked her if she wanted to have a drink with him.

"Well?" he said.

"This is a lot more direct than your usual style," she said, just in time to stop him from looking down at his desk to avoid her eyes.

"How about it?" he persisted. "Two social outcasts, drowning our sorrows in cheap alcohol?"

She looked at him appraisingly, and he tried to breathe normally.

"Mid-grade," she said. "You're a lieutenant, you can afford it."

He smiled broadly.

"Maybe a drink will clear up that cough of yours," she added.

"It couldn't hurt," he said.

They were still staring at each other when Stottlemeyer and Monk came out of the office.

"Good work, people," Stottlemeyer said in a general sort of way to the other three. "See you around, Monk. Sharona."

"Captain," said Sharona. "Randy."

"Monk," said Randy. "Sharona." He was waiting for somebody to throw a "John-Boy" in there.

"Ohhhhh," said Monk.

"What?" said Stottlemeyer.

Monk looked nervously from Randy to Sharona to his shoes to Sharona again. She glared at him. "Um," he said, his voice unusually high-pitched. "Nothing."

Stottlemeyer shook his head. "Good night, Monk," he said, and turned back to his office.

"Good-night, Lieutenant," Monk said in a strangled voice. "We'll be seeing you...later…."

"You'll be seeing _us_ next time you have a job for _us_," said Sharona, with a pointed look at Monk.

"Or, you know…around."

"No! Not around! Adrian!"

Randy held back a smile as he settled in to write the case report. He had only ever imagined Sharona having this conversation with Monk about _him_. The real thing was turning out to be even more gratifying.

Of course, in the imaginary version, Monk hadn't won the argument.


	3. Take One

"Are you sure about this place?" Monk asked skeptically, eying the flickering sign above the bar dubiously.

"Relax, Monk," said Randy. "I come here all the time."

"_You_ come here," Monk emphasized. "I…I don't come here." He turned to Sharona, shaking his head and pointing at the sign. "I think this is why."

"No one asked you," said Sharona. "In fact, I specifically recall _not_ asking you."

"You told him not to come," Randy volunteered.

"I," echoed Sharona, "told you not to come. You wanna wait in the car?"

"No."

"You wanna stand out here on the sidewalk?"

"No."

"I'm going inside."

"No!"

"I'm going inside, Adrian!" she snapped. "Randy?"

Randy jumped a bit. He had momentarily forgotten why he was there.

"Yeah?"

"Did you bring your gun? Handcuffs? Taser?"

"Uh," he said, "no."

Sharona glanced back at Monk. "Too bad." She grabbed Randy by the arm authoritatively and pulled him towards the entrance. "Let's go."

* * *

"Do you even know," asked Monk in an earnest whisper, "how much danger we're putting ourselves in, here?"

Randy had started to suggest sitting at the bar, but Sharona shook her head vigorously, which he took to mean that Monk wouldn't be able to handle the extra noise, the way the glasses were arranged behind the counter, or the height of the barstools. They were sitting at a booth in the corner, as far away from the bar as possible.

"Danger?" said Randy, glancing at Sharona, who sat across the table, closest to the wall. (Monk didn't like to feel closed in.)

She rolled her eyes. "Secondhand smoke," she said, nodding at the one person at the bar who had just lit up.

Monk began coughing, a cough that started as a wheeze and crescendoed until he was practically hacking a lung into his napkin.

The waitress arrived at the peak of Monk's cough and eyed him dubiously. "Is he going to be okay?"

"Not when I'm done with him," said Sharona. She elbowed Monk sharply and reached across him for her glass of beer, which she drank in silence—and faster than Randy would have thought possible.

The glass hit the table with a solid thunk. "We're leaving," she said, turning to push Monk out of the booth.

"So soon?" he asked, in an attempt at sounding disappointed that did nothing to mask his very apparent relief.

"Yes," she said. She pushed him away.

Randy heard them walking swiftly through the restaurant. He heard the mutter of their voices—Sharona's strident irritation, Monk's wounded cluelessness. He heard the bell over the door clinking as it opened and shut. He pushed his beer glass away, half empty. The evening hadn't been the disaster he had imagined in his more negative daydreams, the ones in which Sharona gave him a thorough dressing-down before she stormed off. It could have been much worse.

He jumped as he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I really gotta go, and I don't have any cash on me. If you don't mind picking up the tab, I promise I'll pay you back."

"You can buy the drinks next time," he said wryly, tracing letters in the condensation on his half empty glass.

"Deal," she said. He looked up in surprise. "Thanks so much."

And then she was gone.

Randy raised his half full glass to her as the bell over the door clinked again.


	4. Take Two

Somehow—she would never tell him exactly how, but he suspected the involvement of a long harangue and a few brief but well-worded threats—the next time Sharona met Randy at a bar, she came alone.

"Been waiting long?" she asked as she sat on the barstool next to him.

"All my life," he answered. She laughed.

"You're not a quitter, I'll say that for you," she said. "Really, though, how long have you…."

He saw the bartender approaching and spoke quickly. "Know what you want? I do."

"Gimme a second, I just…."

"Same as before?" said the bartender.

Sharona stared at him. "That's amazing," she said. "I was here _once_, two weeks ago. You remember what I ordered two weeks ago?"

Randy was suddenly very interested in the bowl of peanuts.

"No, but this guy here does," said the bartender, jerking a thumb towards Randy. "And he's had plenty of time to tell me about it."

"He has?"

"Well, sure," said the bartender. "He's been here for over half an hour."

"He _has_?"

"Didn't want to be late," the bartender continued, despite Randy's heartfelt unspoken petition. "Said he's been waiting for this night for a long time."

The peanut bowl had a chip in it. Randy wondered if that would have driven Monk crazy, that chip. Come to think of it, the pile of peanuts wasn't centered….

"A long time, huh?" said Sharona, and Randy looked up and saw that the bartender had moved over to the taps.

"Well," said Randy, "yeah." Suave.

"Sorry about that last time," she said. "But you know Adrian."

"Yeah," he said. "I do."

"You do," she said thoughtfully. "That's right."

"If the price for brilliance is a complete lack of social skills," said Randy, jumping into the silence that followed Sharona's last words, "then I'm glad I'm not brilliant."

"You have social skills?" said Sharona. "Where do you keep them?"

"They like to stay as far away from you as possible," he said. "Unlike me, apparently."

"That chipped peanut bowl isn't driving you crazy, though," she said. "You probably didn't even notice it."

"Barely."

As the bartender placed their drinks in front of them and turned to a customer nearby, Sharona leaned toward him in a confidential way that made his heart beat faster. "Sometimes," she whispered conspiratorially, "I buy chipped things. On purpose. I hide them when he comes over, obviously, but when he's not around…." She straightened again, away from him, and he found himself wracking his brain for a secret to tell her.

"Being surrounded by perfection?" she said. "_That _would make _me_ crazy."

"Well, then, you'd never be crazy around me," he said.

"I don't know," she said, and there was a glint in her eye as she reached for her glass. "You make me a little crazy sometimes."

He swallowed hard and picked up his own glass gingerly. It was so full it was nearly overflowing.

"So," said Sharona. "What do you wanna talk about?"

Randy blinked nervously. His frequent daydreams about a date with Sharona had never involved actual conversation. In most of them, Sharona was the one pouring her heart out to him, and he was the strong, silent one ready to kiss away any tears. Or, you know. Just to kiss her. He realized he was looking at her lips. Panicking, he regained eye contact.

Sharona was grinning. "You really don't get out much, do you?" she asked.

"I'm sorry," he said swiftly.

"For being a lousy conversationalist, or for wanting to kiss me?"

"Yes?" he volunteered.

"And you expected us to believe you had a girlfriend," she said. "Oh, yeah. You're a player."

"Crystal was real! _Is_ real! She's a real person!"

"Okay, then," Sharona challenged. "How'd you meet her?"

"At the dentist," Randy said automatically. "In the waiting room."

Sharona's jaw fell. She attempted to form words, but for a few moments nothing came. "You—you're serious," she said.

"Of course I am," said Randy. "What have I been telling you for months?"

Sharona shook her head and took a sip of her drink. "Congratulations, Lieutenant," she said wryly. "Looks like there's more to you than meets the eye, after all. What was she like?"

They spent the next half hour discussing Randy's relationship with Crystal—what they talked about; what sort of dates they had gone on; what had worked, what hadn't worked. Randy found himself conversing as easily and naturally with Sharona as he ever had with Crystal. More so, since he wasn't fantasizing about another woman as they talked.

"What was it that made you believe me?" he asked.

"When you said you met her in the waiting room at the dentist office," said Sharona. "You wouldn't make that up."

"But I'd make up an entire relationship. I'd invent a woman to be in love with me."

"I thought…."

"You thought what?" probed Randy.

She smiled and waved a hand dismissively.

"You thought," he said, "that I was making her up so that you would realize what you were missing, become insanely jealous, and throw yourself into my arms."

Sharona shrugged. "I was wrong."

"You were wrong," said Randy. "I didn't make her up for any of those reasons." He raised his glass to Sharona. "Those were just the reasons I talked about her."

Sharona laughed and clinked her glass against his.

They moved from the subject of Crystal to stories of some of Sharona's worst relationships, to anecdotes about Monk, to details about Randy's mom. They talked about how Randy had "always" wanted to be a cop, about what it meant to him and how much pride he took in what he did, even if he'd never be as good of a cop as Captain Stottlemeyer or as good a detective as Monk. They talked about Sharona's struggles as a single parent, about how she hated that Benjy felt torn between her and his father, about how she never expected to be a mom and yet loved it so much she couldn't imagine _not _being one, about how she worried about her son in more ways than she ever thought possible. They talked about their first impressions of each other, about how Sharona thought Randy was a wet-behind-the-ears boot-licker ("So not much has changed," she said) and how Randy found Sharona confusing and more than a little scary ("Not much has changed on my end, either, I guess"). The hours passed quickly, and then, his courage bolstered by the last drink, Randy asked the question he had been wanting to ask all night.

"Why are you here?"

"You asked me," said Sharona, looking a little bleary-eyed with the combination of the late hour and the alcohol.

"So all I ever had to do was ask."

She shook her head. "Nah. I'd have turned you down more ways than you can think."

"So…."

She thought for a moment. "We've been friends for a while, haven't we?"

"I guess we have."

"Well, I guess I'm just realizing it."

"Better late than never."

Her smile had a hint of sadness in it, almost like pity. "I'm glad I came. Thanks for asking, Randy."

He smiled back, feeling a surge of dizziness coursing through him.

She leaned towards him, still smiling in a way that intoxicated him more than the alcohol had. She was closer—closer—he could smell her perfume—a stray hair tickled his face….

"Wait," he said, his voice croaky and foreign to him.

She backed up, confused. "What?"

"I need to savor this moment."

She looked at him like he had lost his mind. "Huh?"

"In fact," he continued, "maybe we'd better not. Kiss."

"Too much liquor on the breath?"

"No, no," he said, "I'd kiss you if you smelled like a garbage heap. Which you don't. Smell like. You smell great."

"Randy, you're babbling."

"Because I've wanted this for so long," he said, "and I don't know if I can handle it all at once. Maybe we could…save it? For next time?"

"Next time," she said flatly.

"Yeah," he said, swallowing hard. "Next time." He felt a sudden sense of foreboding. "There can be a next time, right?"

"I hadn't thought about it," Sharona said. She looked confused.

They both lapsed into silence, a silence Randy filled with mentally cursing himself.

_She was going to _kiss_ you, what were you_ thinking, _she was going to _KISS _you..._

"I think I'm ready to go home," said Sharona.

They took a cab and rode in silence to Sharona's place, Randy's stomach twisting as he thought of how he'd screwed up the perfect evening, and how nobody but him could have screwed it up that badly. When the cab stopped, Randy walked Sharona to her door.

"Well," he said. "Good night."

She stopped fumbling for her keys and looked back at him. He stopped, waiting for whatever she had to say.

"Randy…."

"Sharona." Waiting for her. Expecting nothing. But really, really hoping she was going to look like she wanted to kiss him again.

"Good night. Thanks." Voice shaking. Keys rattling in a trembling hand.

The door closed behind her. Randy stood on the sidewalk, alone.


	5. Flipped World

When he came in to the captain's office on Monday morning, Captain Stottlemeyer asked him, casually, "How was your weekend?" He looked up to see Randy looking pale and a little wobbly. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," he said, shaking his head. Then, "No," while nodding. Then, "I'm feeling a little confused."

"Uh-huh," said Stottlemeyer. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Nah," said Randy. "I don't think so."

The captain went back to his paperwork. Randy stood there. The captain sighed and looked up.

"What is it, Randy?" he asked.

"It's Sharona," he said.

"Do we have a case?"

"No. This is…personal."

The captain pushed his pen away and leaned back in his chair. "Talk."

"Maybe you haven't noticed, sir, but…"

"If you're going to imply that I was too incompetent of a detective to know you have the hots for Sharona, I'm going to be insulted."

Randy switched tack seamlessly. "…but Sharona and I have been on two dates now."

"What?" said Stottlemeyer, unable to keep the disbelief from his voice.

"Well, sort of dates," said Randy. "Monk came on one"—the captain snorted—"so I don't think that counts."

"Me, neither."

"And then Saturday night I really messed up."

"You did," said Stottlemeyer, and Randy thought there wasn't quite _enough_ disbelief in his voice this time.

Randy told him about the evening, and how he didn't kiss her when it looked like she wanted him to, and how he was afraid he wouldn't get a second chance. The captain seemed sympathetic, but what he really wanted to know was…

"Is this going to affect your ability to interact with her on a professional level?"

"What? Oh, no, sir."

"Because you are going to have to deal with this somehow, Lieutenant. Next time Adrian Monk walks through that door, I do _not_ want him to be distracted by whatever may be going on in your personal life."

"No, sir," assured Randy.

The captain sighed. "Look, I'm sorry it's not working out for you, I am. I…we just can't afford to lose Monk."

"I know, sir," said Randy. "Trust me, it won't be a problem."

Still, Randy was relieved that there were no major homicides over the next several days. Not that he was ever excited about a homicide. Exactly. But he couldn't help connecting homicides with Sharona. A big fancy murder meant that Sharona would be there. That was the exciting part. Right now, though, he was glad not to have to see her again. Not after he had loused things up so much.

A week went by.

Another week.

Every day, the idea of calling her felt more awkward, and every day he wanted a homicide that much more…wait no, no a homicide, just…just an excuse to talk to her. That was all. Maybe a kidnapping. No, not that, either. A lost cat?

It was a few weeks before the next time Monk was called in on a case. Randy could feel Captain Stottlemeyer watching him, so he determined not to flirt with Sharona as much as he usually did.

She didn't make eye contact with him when she stepped out of the car, and his heart skipped a beat. She wasn't flirting with him, either. Two minds with but a single thought.

No words or glances exchanged. No physical proximity. But for the next hour, every nerve was on fire with her presence. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. He turned to speak to her….

And she was gone. Without saying goodbye. Which meant that she was either really into pretending that nothing was wrong, or…everything was wrong.

That night he sat in his recliner, snapping his cell phone open and shut and gazing morosely at the spot on the screen that should be displaying an icon showing him that he had a voicemail, that Sharona had called, that his world hadn't flipped upside down.

Except it had already flipped upside down, really. When she went out with him that second time. What he didn't want was for it to flip right side up again. He wanted upside down to be the new right side up. Forever.

He sighed and tossed the cell phone onto the coffee table. There was a reason he didn't talk about this kind of stuff with the captain.


	6. Goodbye Note

It was a little over two months after that disastrous second first date when Randy showed up on the scene of a difficult case and asked Stottlemeyer if Monk had been called.

"Yes," said Stottlemeyer, dragging the word out almost nervously.

"And?" asked Randy.

Stottlemeyer took a deep breath. "And he's not coming."

"He's…not coming? Did Sharona say what's wrong?"

The captain shot a sideways glance at his younger colleague. "I think Sharona is the reason he's not coming."

"That doesn't make sense," Randy said. "Sharona never turns down a job."

"Sharona's gone," said Stottlemeyer.

His heart thudded ominously, but he recovered quickly. "To Jersey? To visit her mother again?"

"Yes, to Jersey," said the captain.

Randy relaxed, which meant that the captain's next words were that much more of a shock.

"She remarried her ex-husband."

Out of the fog that descended around him, Randy heard his voice say, "No."

"There was a note on my desk when I got in this morning, letting us know she left."

"She didn't," came the voice from the fog.

"Yes, she did," Stottlemeyer persisted. He was looking gruffer by the minute, a sure sign he was rattled. "Now, I know you were…." He exhaled in frustration, then leaned towards Randy and said, quieter and calmer this time, "If you need to go home, I'll understand. But I want you on this case."

He stayed. What else was there to do? Go home and drink himself into a stupor? Check his mail for a note? "Dear Randy, ran off to get married. Sorry about jerking your chain a couple months ago. Hope you understand. Nothing personal. Love, Sharona."

That night he was in the recliner again, this time with a few empty beer bottles next to him, and it was as though nothing had happened. Nothing between the two of them. Ever. Because if something had happened, Sharona would have mentioned something, right? _Hinted_ something about….

He crushed the paper in his hand. He didn't need to be able to read it again. The words had burnt into his memory.

"Capt. Stottlemeyer and Lt. Disher,

"By the time you read this, Benjy and I will be on our way across the country. We're moving back to New Jersey. Trevor and I have been patching things up and we'll probably be married by the end of the month. I'm sorry for the short notice, but we couldn't tell anybody or else Monk might have found out. I'm sorry about Monk, and about all the problems I've left behind for you to deal with, but this was the best choice for me and Benjy. He needs his father.

"Wish me luck. I'm wishing some for you.

"Sharona"

Not even a note just for him, a note to the department. He had sneaked it off Stottlemeyer's desk while his superior pretended not to notice, but Randy had _seen_ him pretending not to notice. He wasn't a total idiot.

He wondered if she lumped his feelings for her into "all the problems" she was leaving behind. He wondered if things would have been different if he had kissed her. Or called her back. Or ever gotten the guts to ask her what was wrong, instead of assuming she just didn't want to talk about it.

Maybe he _was_ a total idiot.

But with the way she left, he knew he could never call her again. He could never be just friends with her, and he didn't want to mess up anything good she had going with Trevor.

That's when Randy realized that he loved her.


	7. Interim

You didn't just get over somebody like Sharona Fleming. Well, okay, obviously some guys did, considering the string of them she'd dated, but those guys had all been jerks. And Randy might be an idiot, sometimes, but he wasn't a jerk. Mostly. Everybody was a jerk occasionally.

The point was, he didn't just wake up the next morning and find out he was over it. But then, he didn't wake up catatonic, either, if that was a thing. (Could you wake up catatonic? Was catatonic like being in a coma?) So he wasn't flippant, but he wasn't…well, Monk. The worst that happened is that he rambled a little more than usual for a while, and honestly, he didn't think the captain noticed, because the captain was worried about Monk, who _had_ woken up catatonic, or mostly, and only if that was a thing.

"Randy," he could hear her saying. "Cut it out."

He had noticed how much she could distract him, but hadn't realized until after she was gone how much she had focused him, too. No wonder she had been so good for Monk.

Soon, Monk had Natalie to help pick himself up and get his life moving again. Randy had to do that alone, and it was weird to see Monk at crime scenes again because it was weird that the woman with him was not the woman who _should_ have been there.

Randy tried to keep from showing how much he hated that it was Natalie, not Sharona, who he saw on a regular basis. Natalie, not Sharona, who answered Monk's phone. Natalie, not Sharona, who teased him now, unaware that her casual friendliness was reminding him of something that was—or was almost—more than that. He tried to hide it because it wasn't her fault she wasn't Sharona. But she wasn't, and whether or not he succeeded in hiding his feelings, it still hurt.

He was rather offended that time hadn't come to a screeching, catastrophic halt when all his hopes derailed, but time, like certain women he could name if it didn't hurt too much, took no notice of him and went on moving forward.

He marked the first anniversary of Sharona's departure by staying in his apartment and ritualistically deleting every message he'd ever received from her—voicemails, texts, the occasional email. They were all dated over a year ago, and it was stupid to hold on so long, especially considering she hadn't just stopped returning his calls, she had gotten married.

When he pressed the delete button for the last time, he felt a sense of weight and release simultaneously. It was going to be tough to move on, but he _was_ moving on. A whole year had gone by without his permission. Now he wouldn't be able to replay her voicemails ("We're on our way now, sorry we're late but there was a butter emergency…you don't want to know") or re-read her texts ("Still no check from last case and you know SOMEONE would rather let me starve than ask you, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him…help a girl out?"). None of them were exactly ever just for him, anyway. They all related to work somehow. Even the joking ones.

It had been a good working relationship. A really good one. But that was all it ever had the chance to be, and now it was over.

The next week he was digging through his sock drawer and his fingers touched something that wasn't fabric. He pulled out a birthday card and flipped it open.

It was dated a year and a half ago and had a brief handwritten message inside: "To Randy, living proof that another year older doesn't have to mean another year wiser. Happy Birthday!" Sharona's name was signed at the bottom.

Leave it to Sharona to write him an insulting message in a birthday card, and to him for grinning like he had the first time he'd opened it. The card should definitely be part of the message purge.

It went back to the bottom of the sock drawer instead.

He tried putting the whole thing out of his head by dating other women, but the most distracting one was the first he dated after Sharona left, and once Hayley turned out to be trying to kill Monk, Randy had had to call the whole thing off. None of the others were homicidal, but they weren't interesting, either. He kept meaning to sign up for one of those online dating things, but his description of the ideal woman kept coming out as a variation of "petite blond, no-nonsense, kids okay." Which is probably why for a while he thought Natalie was in love with him. _Some _woman fitting that description might be. It could happen.

What with his dating profile difficulties and his career and keeping an eye on his mom's relationships, he never got around to being in a relationship himself.

Which meant that when Sharona Fleming waltzed back into his life with as little warning as she left it, he was ready for her.


	8. Reappearance

Natalie called him that Monday morning. "Hey, Randy, could you run us a background check on a Howard Fleming? He was killed recently..." On Natalie's end of the phone, another voice protested angrily, and she continued, "he _died _recently out at Eastdale Country Club."

"Howard Fleming," repeated Randy, jotting a note to himself. "Got it."

"He's actually an uncle of an old friend of yours. You remember Sharona?"

His face grew hot. "Uh…yeah, sure, I remember. Did, uh…did she call you in on this?"

"She's actually in town. She dropped in on Mr. Monk this morning. We're headed over to the station from the country club now. Think you can have the info for us by the time we get there?"

Randy's mouth went dry.

"Hello?"

He cleared his throat. "What? Oh, no, sure, sure, I can have it, no problem. See you soon."

He had never typed that quickly in his whole life. He ran Howard Fleming's name through every database they had, printed everything that came up, reached for a folder…and found he had run out. He wasted too much time asking everybody around him if they had a folder before deciding he had to make a run to the supply room. The run was literal, and he almost knocked a few people over, but he got what he needed and rushed back to his desk, dropping the remainder of the new box of folders on it when he saw the captain hugging someone with curly blond hair.

Randy burst into the room breathlessly. "Is she here?" he asked inanely, forgetting that even if she weren't, the captain wouldn't know who he was talking about. And then he made eye contact with her for the first time in five years. "There she is, she is…here. Wow, you look great…."

"Thank you, Randy," she smiled, and he was moving quickly again, crossing to her for a hug and finding her arms coming up to receive it.

He had never hugged her before, but he didn't think of that until later. At the time, it felt completely natural.

"It's really good to see you, Randy."

He could feel a grin tugging the corners of his mouth back without conscious effort. "And?"

"And what?"

"I dunno, I'm just…waiting for the punchline. You always used to set me up and hit me with a zinger."

"What, I did that?"

It had been five years, but he was surprised she could have forgotten. "Only all the time!"

She looked contrite. "Was I awful?"

"No, you were…" he paused on the verge of "wonderful," suddenly checked by the presence of the captain. "Truth is, I missed it. Now, excuse me for repeating myself, but you look _great_."

"Thank you," she repeated.

Monk and Natalie arrived then, asking about Sharona's uncle, so her attention was diverted to them. It was kind of a good thing, because Randy thought that all he would have done otherwise was keep saying "you look great" over and over and over again, acceptable public code for "I missed you" and "you haven't changed" and "I haven't changed, either" and "please let's not go another five years without talking." It was so much like something out of a dream that he wasn't sure he was awake. His eyes moved in slow motion as they took her in, and then they froze on her left hand.

Her empty left hand.

When Monk and Stottlemeyer left the room, Randy asked Sharona how long she was going to be in town.

"Only long enough to get this thing resolved. Hopefully I'll be able to leave by the end of the week."

"That's not long," he said, disappointed, and then saw his chance. "I guess you have to get back to Benjy…and Trevor."

"Just Benjy. Trevor.…" She shrugged. "Well, that'll be my next court appearance."

"I'm sorry it didn't work out," he said, and part of him actually was.

"It never should have happened in the first place," she said. "But I got a great kid out of the deal, so it wasn't all bad."

"Sure. I mean, no. I mean…."

She smiled again. "I know what you mean." He had really missed that smile.

But then the captain and Monk came back, and Natalie and Sharona both left with Monk to go see Howard Fleming's apartment.

He couldn't help feeling that after five years, he had blown another chance.


	9. Making Another First Date

Late Tuesday morning, he was running late for a court appointment because of a communication mix-up with the legal department about when he needed the affidavits. He didn't have time to slow down when Sharona showed up, and he was almost glad he didn't. Hurrying to the elevator with her pouring out her frustrations about her uncle's case made him feel like they were working together again, except that with her admission that talking to him had always made her feel better, he felt a lot more competent than he had in any of their conversations in the past. (Knowing in advance you were helpful sure helped you _be_ helpful.)

They had to backtrack once because the first time they got to the elevator he realized he didn't have his briefcase, and by the second time they reached it, Sharona had come down to what seemed to bother her most. She said Natalie had turned Monk against her.

"Why would she do that?"

"'Cause she's jealous. Adrian likes me better."

"Did he _say_ that?" Randy asked, unable to imagine even Monk being that tactless. The elevator dinged as it arrived at their floor.

"No, but I can tell," Sharona insisted as they entered the elevator. "A woman can tell. Who likes who."

There was something in the way she was looking at him...

"She can?" he asked, wondering if that meant that she could tell that still, after all this time….

"Absolutely."

As the elevator doors slid closed, Randy realized he didn't have time to dance around the issue. "So why didn't we ever talk about that night at the bar?"

She sighed. "It was right around the time I started talking to Trevor again. Things were looking up for us. I didn't want to lead you on."

"You almost kissed me."

"I _what_?" She groaned. "Randy, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," he said. "I'm glad I didn't let you."

Sharona studied him carefully. "You're a good man, Randy Disher." She nodded at the elevator buttons. "Now, don't you have somewhere you need to be going?"

"Oh, yeah!" he exclaimed, and punched the ground floor button. As they began their descent, he took a deep breath. "Would a perceptive woman like to go out tonight?"

"Depends who's asking her."

"Me," he said. "I'm asking you."

She smiled. "Good."

He stared at her, grinning broadly, until the doors opened. She had to remind him to exit the elevator. He had a moment of panic about his ability to concentrate in court, but when it came down to it, he remembered how Sharona had treated him with respect that afternoon—the whole time she'd been back in town. And he felt competent, and worthy, and he delivered what he considered to be one of the best court performances of his career. Sure, it was no Perry Mason case, but still.

It was a good day.

* * *

After things had gotten ugly at the precinct, what with the investigating trio blowing the case and Monk running off, he figured the date wasn't going to happen, after all. He even texted her: "If you want to cancel, I understand."

She texted back in two minutes. "Thanks. Can't do dinner, Adrian needs me. Bowling after?"

He hesitated before responding. It wasn't one of his go-to options for an impressive date, because he wasn't really very good at it, but somehow he felt like it would be…_them_. That Sharona would already know he wasn't very good, and would know that he knew, and would enjoy teasing him over it.

"Pick you up at your hotel at 8," he texted back.


	10. Keeping Another First Date

They spent all night talking and flirting, and every time Sharona got a strike or a spare, Randy made sure he was there for a high five. One time, when he had two strikes in a row, she patted him on the back. When she had three in a row, she threw her arms around his neck in excitement, and he lifted her off the ground, and would have spun her around, except for even just lifting her made him lose his balance a bit on the slippery alley floor, and it was all he could do to keep standing.

He popped a breath mint into his mouth while she was putting her ball away, then he talked out of the corner of his mouth on the drive back so she wouldn't _know_ he had popped a breath mint. He didn't want to look over-eager. He waited for her to make the move, but when they drove up to her hotel she just said, "I had a great time, Randy. Thanks." And that was good, too.

But not "you'll be gone again by the end of the week" good.

He grabbed her hand. "Sharona. You _have_ to know. I don't just like you." She didn't pull away, which was encouraging. "I don't want this to be just a fun evening to hold onto when you go back to Jersey. I don't want you to go. I mean, I know you have to, but…." He took a deep breath. "I don't want you to leave without me telling you, and I know it's going to sound weird because we haven't really spoken in five years but…I'm in love with you."

"Randy, I don't know if that's…."

"Please, Sharona, just this once, would you shut up and kiss me?"

Amazingly, she did. He clung to her like his life depended on it, doing his best to tell her without words everything he wasn't quite sure he could put into words anyway. Her response was hesitant, then surprised, and then…and then…he had to break away to look into her eyes to see if he was imagining things.

"Well, Lieutenant." She shook her head and smiled. "I think I'm gonna be shutting up and kissing you more than just once."

She didn't say it out loud, but when she kissed him again Randy was even more sure she was telling him she was more than halfway to loving him, too.

On the drive home from dropping her off, he found himself planning a second date—a third—a fourth—a marriage proposal. That night, his sleep was full of dreams with nothing but happy endings.

* * *

It wasn't until about lunchtime the next day when he saw Sharona's name on his phone display. "Hello, gorgeous," he answered quietly.

"You're crazy, you know that?" she said, but he could hear the edge of laughter in her voice.

"Crazy for _you_," he retorted, and then he heard it—that giggle he'd heard so many times when she was on the phone with other men.

"Stop it," she said, in the same "don't stop it" flirty voice he'd heard so often while watching her having those conversations with those other guys.

"Holy cow," he breathed. "This is really happening."

"In case you needed more proof you're not dreaming, guess where I am right now?"

"In the lobby?"

"In the hospital…okay, I'm okay," she hurried to add. "I fell on that loose step at the country club and broke my arm."

"What? That's awful!"

"No, no, no, it's the best thing that happened to me all week." She giggled again. "Well, almost."

He had to stop himself from saying "I love you." He didn't want to push that before she was ready for it.

"So this means I really do have a lawsuit to file, but I'm gonna wait a few weeks. I have to get back to Jersey."

He didn't answer. In his awe at the dream being real, he'd momentarily forgotten that the reality was that she lived all the way across the country.

"Randy? You still there?"

"Uh, yeah. When are you leaving?"

"The doctor says I'll be okay to travel as soon as he releases me, so I booked a flight back for tomorrow afternoon."

"That soon."

"With coming out again in a few weeks, I have to save my vacation time. Think you can drive me to the airport tomorrow?"

"Sure, I'll take the day off. Will I see you tonight?"

She paused. "Tonight I'm spending with Adrian."

"Oh."

"But tomorrow my flight doesn't leave until about two o'clock. Maybe we could go for brunch or something first?"

"Absolutely."

They arranged a meeting spot for ten o'clock the next morning, and then Sharona had to hang up to talk to the medical staff.

Randy leaned back in his chair and looked at the clock. It was five minutes to noon. In just over twenty-four hours, he would be saying good-bye to the woman he loved. He found himself smiling.

It didn't feel like an ending.


	11. Not an Ending

Sharona was standing on the corner with Monk and Natalie when Randy pulled up. He got out of the car and leaned against the trunk while she said goodbye to her former boss, giving him a one-armed hug that was returned with two. It was good to see Monk getting a chance to see her off, and Randy suspected the lines of communication were going to open up there, as well.

While he was getting her suitcase into the back seat, she opened the passenger door for herself. He jumped for it before she could get in and held it open symbolically. Then, because he hadn't seen her for two days and just couldn't wait anymore, he stopped her right there on the sidewalk.

"How're you doing?" He kissed her before she could answer, not caring if Monk and Natalie were watching. He kind of hoped they were. Everybody should get to see this kind of happiness. "All right," he said, and he couldn't stop grinning as he helped her into the car. "Let's go."

Sharona was shaking her head as he buckled his seat belt. "Did you see the look on their faces?"

"They can't believe my luck," he said. "_I_ can't."

She was quiet as they drove down the hill and on toward the airport. It was a thoughtful silence, and for once he didn't feel the need to rush into it with words that didn't fit.

"Five years," she said at last. "How are you in love with me after five years of nothing _from_ me?"

"Are you kidding?" he asked. "You're impossible to forget. Nobody ever compared to you. The real question is what you could possibly see in a bumbling detective who puts his foot in his mouth all the time."

"Maybe that the more I heard all that putting your foot in your mouth, the more I realized you couldn't tell a lie to save your life."

"Maybe?"

She reached over and squeezed his shoulder. "Definitely."

If it had been safe to take a hand off the wheel in San Francisco traffic, he would have driven the rest of the way holding her hand. Hey, if it had been safe to stop in the middle of the street and kiss her, he would have done that. But neither _was_ safe, and she'd already broken an arm on this trip, so he just shrugged his shoulder up and tilted his head to the right and kissed her knuckles.

"A man of many skills," she laughed. Bumbling and all, he felt like one.

She rested her hand at the back of his neck, falling into a silence that was comfortable this time, like there would be more than enough time for talking in the future, and he knew.

He really _was_ going to marry her someday.


End file.
